Carte Blanche
by Katrain
Summary: After finding and being sucked through a rift in his home-city, Clay finds himself in Thedas: a world full of demons, elves, weird bull-people, and rifts in the sky. He can't speak the language, he doesn't know how to fight, and he's scared of most things he comes across, but he'll be damned if he gives up when Thedas needs him most.
1. Chapter 1

Prologue:

Ellana Lavellan stood, arm outstretched towards the swelling, green rift in front of her. Sweat poured down her back as she gripped at an invisible thread and pulled with all her strength, successfully mending the rift and defeating the pride demon with an explosion of magical electricity. She fell to her knees, panting and grinning, and listened to the soldiers behind her roar in celebration and triumph.

Her grin fell, however, when she noticed a body lying not 10 feet away from her. Ellena rose to her feet in panic, grasping for the daggers she had dropped in exasperation and sheathing them on her back. She had been painfully aware of the bodies that dropped as they struggled against the demon, and was achingly sorry for the loss, but the frail body in front of her looked nothing like one of Haven's soldiers. Ellena turned and frantically scanned the crowd of cheering men and woman for a familiar face; she spotted a recognizable ring of braids.

"Cassandra!" she cried, the dark haired seeker turned to face Ellena, her expression relieved.

"You did it, I can't believe it!" Cassandra declared, jogging towards her.

"Yes, I-I did but…" Ellena motioned to the body on the ground with her marked hand. It was covered in ash and blood, but not petrified like the other corpses scattered around the conclave, and wearing what she could only describe as a tunic and trousers. She knelt down next to it, wiping the grime off to reveal the face of a human boy.

Cassandra tsked and shook her head, "There were many casualties, Ellena. It is enough to see you mourn them. The Mak-"

"He is alive!" she gasped. Ellena rested her hand on his chest, feeling it rise and fall with airy and trembling breaths. "We need a healer for him!" She looked pleadingly at Cassandra.

Cassandra's brows shot up and uncrossed her arms to wave a couple of soldiers over. They gently hoisted the boy onto a plank of wood before carrying him towards the conclave entrance. Cassandra nodded and turned back to lecture the elf on how to properly deal with injured soldiers but, before she could get her first word in, Ellena fell to her side, exhaustion overwhelming her and blackness overtaking her.

Chapter One

Clay let out a sigh and watched his hot breath evaporate into chilled, spring air. It seemed, by fate, that whatever power controlled the weather had decided that rain was due at 3 pm precisely that day; the exact time when Clay would be fired from his full-time job and stepping outside with a box of his important shit. He fished out his umbrella, relieved he had remembered to stuff one in his already bursting bag that morning or, at least, happy his mother chided him into bringing one.

He moved up the sidewalk, struggling to carry the large cardboard box and an umbrella at the same time. It was hard enough walking that way when everyone else on the street wasn't also holding an umbrella, not giving two shits about anyone else trying to walk. Clay grumbled as the battled the slipping box as he made his way towards his apartment building, thankfully only a few blocks away from his job. _Ex-_ job _._

" _Someone help me!_ "

Clay stopped suddenly, causing a small commotion from commuters around him. He looked around, searching for the whereabouts of the voice and checking if anyone else had reacted. No one around him had stopped like he had; either no one else cared or he was the only one who heard it. He shook his head and kept walking.

" _Someone help me! Please!_ "

The voice called with more urgency. It sounded like an old woman, frightened and distressed. Clay searched for someone with a confused or startled expression. He had no luck; everyone was either looking down at their phones or staring straight ahead and walking fast. Looking forward, he noticed a fading green light emanating from a closeby alleyway. Clay speed-walked awkwardly toward it, unable to run due to the fact that his was clutching his belongs to his chest while performing a balancing act with his umbrella. As he got closer the voices grew louder.

" _Keep the sacrifice still!_ "

Clay set his stuff down delicately and sidled up to the wall under an overhang, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Ready to snap a picture, he turned the corner, expecting to see a mugging or some kind of hold-up taking place. Instead Clay came across a large, crackling, green energy floating in the middle of an alley about five feet up from the ground. Clay stepped backwards and investigated the alleyway, hoping to spot some kind of projector on the walls around him. _Must be some kind of street art._

" _What's going on here?!_ "

" _Run while you can! Warn them!_ "

" _We have an intruder._ "

Clay walked cautiously towards the glowing crack, there was movement inside; it looked like it could be a screen suspended by wires. He reached his hand out toward it to check the density when he felt a strong pull towards the center. Before he knew it, Clay's body was being sucked into the glowing screen. He cried out and reached for a handhold so he could pull himself back, but there was nothing to keep him from being engulfed in the crackling electricity. The last thing he saw before he was enveloped was the bustling streets of his city, and not a single onlooker.

His cry caught in his throat as he landed painfully on very solid ground. Clay sat up, and clutched the back of his head, a sharp pain etching through his skull when he moved. He searched his surroundings, his eyes still stunned from the electric green. As the imprints in his sight faded, the world around him became littered with ash, flames, and green energy. Clay started, panic seizing his body as a whirlwind of conclusions raced through his mind, _a terrorist attack? An earthquake? A burst gas pipe?_ Clay scrambled to his feet and immediately howled in pain as his left leg crumpled beneath him, broken. He looked above him to the sky and saw the screen he had found in the alleyway, no, this one was at least ten times as big, floating directly overtop of him at least 20 metres off the ground.

An ungodly screeching turned his attention in front of him, a huge demon-like monster was edging towards Clay, gliding over the rubble and… _corpses?!_ Clay was in full panic mode, pushing the ground with his good leg in a desperate attempt to create space between him and the monster making it's way towards him. He whimpered out cries of help as he did so, finally screening his surroundings for someone other than dead bodies and murderous creatures. It was hard to see through the cloud of green light and ash that illuminated the encompassing area, but he did spot a group of, what seemed to him as either medieval soldiers _but could be larpers_ , making their way towards the green tear. He cried louder, and coughed, choking on the frigid and smoky air.

Clay scrambled to find a projectile, he picked up a large rock and lobbed it at the monster who roared and sped up towards him. Out of options, Clay shielded his face with his arms and screamed as loud as possible, hoping someone with a weapon would take notice. He heard a thump as the creatures long arm lashed out and clipped the side of his head. He cried in agony and slapped his palm over what he now assumed was his mangled ear. The blood ran fast from the wound, but Clay could no longer tell whether it was his blood or the blood of the corpses surrounding him. His breath grew weaker as the light dimmed around him; he was slowly growing unconscious as he bled out. He watched one of the soldiers slash through the belly of the creature, and step over it to tread away from Clay, before he was out cold.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Clay woke, shivering, hungry, and in pain. Pain all over his body. He winced as he sat up, relieved he was still able to do so. He looked around, confused by his surroundings. He seemed to be in a low, canvas tent. It was large, full of cots, and filled with wounded and sickly men and women. Clay groaned as he pulled the bloodied bedsheet off his lower body. His left leg was bandaged at his calf and each of his toes were in different stages of bruising. He groaned as his memories came back, and brought his hand up to the side of his head, searching for the large gash that had likely destroyed his right ear. All he could feel, however, were layers of sticky, linen bandage. He stared at his blood stained hand for a moment, squishing his fingers together then separating them to feel the stickiness of, what he hoped to be, his own bodily fluids.

"Das et hoirer ha?"

Clay looked up, puzzled by the voice beside him. There was a petite girl staring at his face, her expression full of concern. He dropped his hand on his lap and ogled the person at his bedside.

Her face was covered in intricate tattoos: emerald green roots took hold over her slender neck and the tree itself sprouted over her chin, branched out over her round cheeks, framing her cherub nose and jewel-blue eyes, and curled over her jawbone. The tattoo stopped directly below her ears which were...

 _Pointed_

He opened his mouth to speak, but all he could manage was to croak in response.

The girl's eyebrows knitted and she looked around her, as if searching for a way to rephrase her words.

"Das et hoirer ha… den?"

She cocked her head to the side and waited, staring directly into Clay's eyes. Clay felt the sweat bead down his forehead. _How can I let her know I don't speak her language… let alone know where I am?_

Clay cleared his throat, but the dryness persisted, His eyes watered in frustration.

"Sorry… I-"

"Harlen!" A man's voice boomed over the soft mutterings and muffled cries that had become like white noise in the large tent. Clay whipped his head around to face the man. _Bad choice,_ the sudden movement sent a shockwave of hot pain through his temple. He groaned and grasped the good side of his head. Once the pain faded slightly he looked up at the figure: The man was well built, blonde, and wearing a black, fur mantle over his shoulders. He marched into the tent, course set straight for Clay's cot.

"Harlen! Dos ent la foren!"

The girl, _elf?_ , turned to face the blonde man, grinned, and nodded. At that the man stopped walking and gestured for her to follow him. She stood from her perch on Clay's cot, where Clay had only just realised she was sitting. She waved goodbye, and walked, _strutted, maybe? Actually it kinda looks like she's floating…,_ with the blond man out of the tent slit. Clay laid back on the cot, torn between whether or not he hoped this was all a dream.

Chapter Three

After what felt like an eternity in the tent: days of staring at the wooden beams a few feet above him, only interrupted every few hours by a, thankfully human, woman pouring a red liquid down his throat. He could already move his left leg, and his head bandages were removed, useless now that the slash through his ear was healed and scarred over. The healer women had let him leave a few times to visit the "washroom" next to the tent, which was actually just a hole in the ground covered by a few planks of wood. He trembled and plugged his nose whenever he had to use it. His leg wasn't quite healed enough to hold a squatting position which is what this "toilets" called for, so Clay had to sit on the edge of one the the planks when he went number two. It was terrifying and disgusting. _Better cut "washroom" out of my vocabulary._

The elf-woman had not visited again and Clay got used to the tent that was heavily populated by mostly normal-looking humans, if normal-looking encompassed full armored, muscly men and women, and abhorrent healing practices. Clay got used to the sights around him, and made sure to listen in on every conversation he could hear. If he was going to be here a while he might as well try to learn the language as best he could.

After what seemed like a few weeks of living in his own sweat in the "healer's" tent, the only name that seemed suitable for the place he was bedridden, the human woman-healer came over to his cot, carrying a small bundle of carved and stained sticks with fresh bandages wrapped around handled ends. She handed them to him without a word, and he took them graciously, realizing that they were most likely this world's version of crutches. They smiled at each other in an unspoken correspondence. The woman, who looked to be in her late thirties, had realized long ago that Clay was not able to speak the common language in their country and had since then relied solely on hand gestures and over exaggerated expressions to communicate with him.

She nodded at him, and motioned towards the tent opening. Clay looked between her and the slit in the tent and, without warning, pulled the woman into a one armed hug, his other arm at his side, carrying the crutches. The healer wrapped her arms under his and squeezed back, As they separated they nodded at each other.

"Thank-you." He spoke in her language, having learned a bit through eavesdropping on other patient's conversations. The healer woman's eyes widened in surprise. She nodded again and patted his back, smiling with pride.

Fitting the crutches under his arms, Clay sighed happily and limped out of the healer's tent, grinning widely and feeling free.


End file.
